


A song unsung

by TinyThoughts



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I cried writing this, I hate myself, M/M, Oneshot, Short, Sorrow, You Have Been Warned, a mothers pain, damn it hurts, failing a mission, lyrics, mostly just hurt, so angsty, very fucking sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyThoughts/pseuds/TinyThoughts
Summary: “Have you ever lost someone before?” Jaskier asks.“Yes.”“Is it always this hard?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	A song unsung

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, this is seriously very sad. I need you to know this, because I like to know that before I start to read something. I never thought I would do this to myself. Or anyone else. While writing, The rockrose and the Thistle by The Amazing Devil never left my brain. Just putting it out there.

Her small body lies lifeless in front of them. Her small dress is bloody and broken. Her eyes blank and glassy.

They failed. The monster is dead but so is the child. She would never have her fifth birthday. Jaskiers entire body hurts. He has a big scratch on his arm, but his heart bleeds more. Her tiny frame lies unmoving on the grass.

Next to her, on his knees, sits Geralt. He stares, his face unreadable. Her lifeblood is still dripping from his face. He was too late. Too slow. Not enough to save her. Jaskier approaches him, laying a hand on Geralt's stiff shoulder.

”It was not your fault.” He says softly. Geralts says nothing. They stand together in silence.

”We should go back. Bring her to her mother.”  
”We can’t.” Geralt's voice is steady. ”She will wake up soon.”

It breaks Jaskiers heart into a thousand tiny pieces. He knows what must be done. What Geralt must do.

”It’s not fair.” He can feel his eyes burn, tears threatening to break free.  
”There is no other way. She will hurt less this way.”  
The first tear falls down Jaskiers cheek when Geralt unsheathes his dagger. They wait together.

And finally, her eyes open. Black and cruel.  
Geralt push his dagger in her heart. She screams.  
Geralt cuts her head off. She never makes a sound again.

They refuse to burn her together with the monster that killed her. They gather firewood for two. Her funeral pyre is so small. They take the small dress with them.

The village elder meets them at the outskirts of their gathering of houses. He and a few others are gathered, waiting.  
When it is clear that no child is with them, a loud wail breaks from one of the women. The mother.  
She screams and sobs, clutching at her chest.

“Did you kill it?” The village elder asks them quietly.  
Geralt nods, his expression stony.  
“Is she…?” The man's voice wavers.  
“Yes.” Geralt grounds out, lowering his eyes to the ground. “I couldn’t save her.”  
Jaskier reaches out to touch his arm in support. When Geralt hands them the small dress the wails turns to screams.

The mother twists out of the arms of her husband, howling with rage.  
“You killed my little girl! You did this! You monster!” She snatches the dress from his hands, her face a picture of despair.  
Another heart wrenching sob, and then she pounds Geralt with her fist. Her husband grabs her arms, tries to pull her back.  
“You coldhearted freak!” She spits in Geralt's face.  
She keeps screaming and wailing as they drag her back to their house.

During the entire assault, Geralt just stands there. Watch the mother mourn. He takes it.

Jaskier can see from his posture alone that he truly thinks he deserves it.

The elder hands Geralt a pouch of coins.  
“Take it. You killed our monster. You earned it.”  
Geralt turns away, without taking the pouch.  
Jaskier looks after him for a second, then he accepts the pouch from the elder.

He follows Geralt towards their camp and Roach.

They sit across each other. A fire is crackling, the darkness has fallen anew around them. Jaskier is for once very quiet.  
There are no words. He has shed his tears, and now there is a hollow place inside his ribs.

He looks over at Geralt. To most people, he looks the same. Like he is the indifferent monster like they want him to be. He sits there, cleaning his blades. The dagger rests in the grass beneath his feet. The fire is reflected on it’s smooth surface.

“Have you ever lost someone before?” Jaskier asks, breaking the quiet. Geralt doesn’t look up.  
“...Yes.”  
“Is it always this hard?”  
The nightbirds are coming out. Geralt finally relents and meets Jaskiers eyes over the flames.  
He swallows. So much repressed emotion. Fuck those who say Witchers can’t feel.  
“It never gets easier. I don’t want it to get easier. It has to matter.”

There is silence again. Jaskier tosses another clab of wood into the fire, which licks at it greedily.  
Roach is softly chewing on the feed they gave her earlier.

“Do they always treat you like that?”  
A sad smile finds itself on Geralt’s face.  
“She mourns. It helps them, I think.”

Jaskier does not say it. But he wonders how she would have treated a knight, or any huntsman being a human.

“Did you ever lose a friend?”  
Geralt is quiet for so long Jaskier thinks he won’t answer.

“I did.” Geralt says quietly.

That night they put their bedrolls close together.  
Geralt says nothing then Jaskier leans against him.  
Doesn’t protest when he wraps an arm around him, fitting himself against his broad back, holding him close.

It takes two days for Jaskier to touch his lute again.  
He strums it softly, a soft, achingly sad melody. He doesn’t sing, but he writes.

The song is never sung when Geralt is near.

Jaskier only plays it when they are apart, on nights when it feels hard.  
He sings of failure and mourning, of a long and lonely life lined with loss. About taking the blame, about every ache a heart can feel.

It nestles itself in his audience's hearts, weep and feel for those who can’t any more.

It is only years after Jaskiers passing that Geralt learns the words.

A young bard sings in a tavern where he and Yennefer are eating their supper.

He knows it from the melody, a melody he heard many times before.

And Yennefer holds him tight, so tight, under the stars.

~*~

_“She took me in, she loved me dear, for her I kept them safe_   
_They trusted me, they hugged me close, for them I kept her safe_

_For many moons, for many suns, with them we all were safe_   
_But then it came, it took my pup, we were no longer safe_

_I love them all, I love them dear, I need to keep them safe_   
_I hunt the beast, I flash my teeth, Im a beast that'll keep them safe_

_I fell the fiend, I used my teeth, but know I was too late_   
_The blood run red, the blood is hers, I was so very late_

_Her skin is cold, her tears ran dry, I couldn't keep her safe_   
_I bore her home, home to them, I couldn't keep them safe_

_She shuned me hard, she ran me off, I loved her very much_   
_For her I killed, for her I left, I loved them very much_

_My pup I mourn, my pup I lost, I couldn't keep her safe_   
_I miss them all, I miss them still, I hope that they are safe”_

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry.


End file.
